Feathers
by LittleBabeBlue
Summary: When Magic starts to take a special interest in Harry's life, nothing will stay the same, most especially not the boy wizard himself.
1. Chapter 1

**Yello! It's raining outside, I'm home from school with a fever and cough and am on enough cold/flu medicine to knock over a horse. What better time to try to write a story, yeah? If this chapter makes zero sense, blame the medicine, not me. AN2: Once again it is raining. Seems that that's the best time for me to write. Hmm. Anyway, the usual. I do not own Harry Potter, .**

"_Love is how you earn your wings."_

_**- Karen Goldman**_

_**-o-**_

In older times, long since passed, Magic was far more active than she is today. In times of great distress and trouble, Magic would choose champions, brave and of noble heart, and would gift them with abilities far above and beyond those of other people. They could manipulate fire, water, earth, and air, move things without touching them, and were often gifted with extraordinary beauty and strength. They called themselves Magic's Children, and as they married and lived and had children of their own, their abilities were passed on. Communities were built, comprised solely of these few blessed people, and the others looked up to them as gods. From Magic stepped many of the families that we know of today, with names you might recognize. Black, Malfoy, Peverell, Weasley... and Potter.

To be a pureblood was far more than merely having many Magical people in your family, but was to be related to Magic herself, however far back. In a society so dominated by bloodlines, where family feuds carried out for centuries, having Magical ancestors was very important indeed.

But over time, as their abilities become more common and less powerful, they slowly turned into the Witches and Wizards we know of today. Some turned wicked, abusing the gifts they had been given, and used them to destroy rather than help. The other's abilities had grown too weak to combat these wicked ones, and were content to let them have their way, as long as they were not harmed.

And so, on the day our story starts, Magic was looking for a new champion.

_**-o-**_

A beautiful woman stood over the cradle of a young toddler. His mother and father were in the other room, taking a rest as their child slept safely above. They were confidant that nothing could harm their child, they were hidden and safe, and no one knew where they were except their most trusted. The child, the son and heir of one of the families descended from her, rustled the blankets in his sleep, uncomfortable in the late October draft that made it's way through the window. She blinked softly and brushed the child's cheek, smoothing back his dark hair as she did so. A wave of warmth washed over him, negating the cold air that blew around his face. Her hand stilled, resting on his head. Far away, she could sense another heir coming to the house, one filled with malevolent intent, his purpose to harm her chosen.

Her expression flickered, showing a moments indecision, before brushing her thumb over the babe's forehead, leaving the skin glowing softly golden behind her. It would fade in a few minutes, but he was now marked as Magic's Child, her property, her son, and her champion. The woman stepped back, her business done, and vanished into thin air without a sound. The mother and father opened the door a few minutes later and took their child into the first room, where the father blew smoke bubbles for his son's enjoyment. They couldn't see the mark on their child's forehead, indeed no one could see it, but it was there, softly glowing in the shape of a lightning bolt scar.

His glasses had cracked again. It was his own fault, really. He knew he should have been more careful trying to get the biscuits from the top shelf, but he couldn't find the stool, and if he stretched, he could just about reach the bottom of the jar. So he had jumped, his hands flying up to grab the jar. His left one had caught his glasses and flung them to the linoleum tiles, and he could hear the glass cracking. The biscuit jar had halfway come off the shelf, and only his outstretched hand kept it from toppling over. He couldn't see clearly without his glasses, definitely not clearly enough to make another jump for the ceramic jar. Worse still, he knew that he couldn't call for help. He wasn't allowed to have biscuits, and if Aunt Petunia saw him, he would be locked in the cupboard again. Without his glasses, cracked as they were.

But it was his seventh birthday today. Surely he could have one biscuit! Somehow, his Aunt and Uncle had forgotten what today was, so he had decided that he was entitled to this. Just as he was gearing himself up to make another jump, this one blind, the jar fell. He let out a small cry and flinched, waiting for the crash of ceramic on tiles, but... nothing happened?

He opened one eye a sliver, and was shocked to see a woman holding the biscuit jar in her outstretched hands. She was wearing a strange purple dress, and was so beautiful he felt frightened, but she smiled kindly and opened the jar for him. Not breaking eye contact and acting as he would if faced with a wild beast, he edged forward and snatched a biscuit. She handed him his glasses, but... he hadn't seen her pick them up. And what was more, they were now whole! Not a crack was in sight, and all the bumps and dents in the frames had been smoothed out. He put them on and was amazed to find that he could see clearer than he had in years.

Abruptly remembering his manners, he turned to the lady to say thank you, but she was gone. The jar was back on the shelf, and the only evidence of her ever being there were his brand new glasses and the crumbling biscuit he held in his hand.

After that he saw her often. She would appear from thin air whenever he was hurt or in trouble, heal his bruises and cut knees with a mere touch, and produce little things that dried up his tears. She never spoke to him, and eventually he decided that she couldn't. But she was his guardian angel, and he eventually began to regard her as a friend, despite the lack of communication. The last time he saw her was a few days before the letter came, she just looked at him and winked knowingly, before vanishing into the air again. Almost five years passed before he saw her again.

_**-o-**_

It started with a dark, wet dot on the street in front of him. It was quickly joined by three more, then another two, then another four, until the entire road was dark. Then it really began to rain.

Harry's trainers flapped against the asphalt, flicking water off with each step as he ran to get under the bus stop shelter. Rain ran in rivulets through his hair, sliding down his face and dripping off his nose. His glasses steamed with his breath and he shivered in the suddenly cool air.

He sat on the bench and shook his head like a dog, drenching the sides of the shelter. Scooping water from his ears with his pinky, Harry looked out at the rain. Everything was grey and smooth. There were no sharp corners or lines now, everything was blurred from the water in the air.

A trash can toppled over across the street, followed by a yowl as a small ginger cat sped towards the shelter. It stopped, seated in a dry spot with hackles raised at the rain, and gave him an insolent glare, as if daring him to laugh at it's misfortune. It raised a dainty paw and started to clean itself, trying to get dry and warm. Harry looked at it before bending over and holding out a hand.

"Hello, I'm sure that you want to be dry. Will you allow me to help you?"

The cat stared cooly at him before cocking it's head, as if considering his offer. It stood and stretched, before suddenly leaping onto his lap. Harry ran his fingers through it's thick coat, taking comfort from the small body pressed against him. A car rumbled a few blocks away, carrying through the patter of rain on the road. He flicked water off his fingers and ran through it's fur again. There was a rhythm to it. Pet. Flick. Pet. Flick. Pick out leaves. Pet. His hands busy, his mind numb, Harry succumbed to the rain.

It had been like this at Grimmauld place. That part of the country was nearly always wet, it was the only thing Sirius had liked about the place. "There's no sky in Azkaban," he had said, his head pressed against a window, watching the outside world. "Rain lets me remember that the world exists."

But Harry tried not to think about his godfather, who had died less than a month ago, falling through a veil in the department of mysteries. He tried not to think of anything much. Harry filled his days with wandering numbly through the streets and staring at his ceiling. It was like all of his emotions were a dial that had been turned down so far it was almost mute. Almost nothing could get through. Deep down, he knew that Sirius would have been mad at him for acting like this, but he wasn't grieving for only his godfather. He was also grieving for Cedric, his mum and dad, and himself. His days were now filled with Might have been's and What if's, painting possibilities in his mind. He was little more than a robot in his own fantasy world now, mechanical, and apt to break at any moment.

But, slowly, the golden fur beneath his hands became dryer and lighter, the cat's skin became warmer and it purred, happy in Harry's warmth. It sank needle-like claws into his legs and stretched, before leaping out of his hands and into the seat next to him. Harry looked at it, disappointed that the warmth was gone, but let it be.

The cat cocked a pointed ear and looked out into the rain, and it was only seconds later that Harry heard the car too. The cat stood and stretched again, yawning, before hopping back out into the rain. It stood in the middle of the street and gazed amber eyes at him, flicking water off it's newly wet ears. Great. How like a cat, to be wet, then get him wet as he made it dry, and then create more work for him. It was almost exactly like the Dursleys, except politer about it.

Harry made no move to rescue it from the rain. As far as he saw, if it wanted to get wet, that was fine by him.

The cat's ear twitched again, swiveling up the street. Harry saw headlights round the corner and head towards hem, but the cat didn't move. Harry stood up, looking between the car and the cat. The cat looked at him, and then back at the car. It was getting closer and not showing any signs of stopping anytime soon, and the cat was just sitting there, like it wanted to be hit. Harry yelled out,

"Hey! Stop! Go, you stupid cat!"

But it didn't move. Bizarrely, Harry supposed it was like some kind of horrific test. Could he save the cat? In that moment it became more than a cat, it became Ron, Hermione, the Weasleys, his parents, Cedric, Sirius, everyone he didn't or couldn't save. It became everyone he felt guilty or responsible for, and everyone he was worried about losing. With a yell, Harry dove. Squealing wheels. Impact. A hissing shriek. Pain. Tires spinning as fast as they could. Blackness.

And Harry knew no more.

_**-o-**_

The absence of pain was what Harry first noticed. He'd just been hit by a car, hadn't he? So why didn't he feel like he got, well, run over by a car? Harry tentatively reached down to the hard surface he was lying on and his fingers scraped wet concrete, grit sticking to his skin. Harry grimaced, he knew from experience that if he couldn't feel an injury, it was probably bad. That time when Lockhart had removed all the bones in his arm, it was like the nerves had gone too, Harry couldn't feel anything for hours. He had kept knocking things over when he tried to reach for them until Madam Pomfrey forced him back into bed.

A small cough drew him out of his memories and he rolled his eyes upwards, not trusting himself to move his head quite yet, with his luck he had probably split his skull open. He saw a hazy outline of dark hair and a purple dress and he smiled confusedly, accepting her presence without question. He was injured in the Muggle world, and she came. It was as simple as that.

"You came back!"

No matter that he was lying on the ground, probably with horrific injuries to his spine, arms, legs, etc., she was back!

"I missed you you know. I could have used your help so many times, and you were gone." His voice became faintly accusing. "With the Stone, with the basilisk, Cedric, the Cup, when I thought Sirius was out to get me... Sirius. He's dead now, and its my fault. It's all my fault. My fault."

Harry started tearing up, the combination of memories, old friends, and being hit by a moving car was making him emotional. She made a soft sound of distress above his head and he felt a small, cool hand on his brow.

"It's all my fault, I know it.. I went after him... then he went... after me... it's all... my..." Harry fell silent, his head cradled in the lap of a woman wearing purple, in a dirty, wet street in Little Whinging, while the stars blazed through the clouds over head.

Far away, in a cluttered office in an old castle, a silver gadget went off.

_**-o-**_

Harry woke to the sound of someone humming an almost tuneless song beside him and tapping on the ground. He didn't open his eyelids as they felt like they had been turned to stone, weighing down on his face and leaving pebbles in his tear ducts, but managed to turn his head to the sound. A hand reached out to him and the humming stopped abruptly, leaving an emptiness behind that was almost frightening.

He was almost certain he was dead. There was no way he should be this warm and dry and _safe_ after what had happened. Harry felt a small pang inside him at the thought of Ron and Hermione and how sad they would be when they learned he had gone on to the "next great adventure", but it was almost immediately extinguished by the thought that he would get to see Sirius and his parents again. The thought gave him the courage to open his eyes, although he almost immediately closed them against the overwhelming whiteness of the wall (ceiling?) he was looking at, and couldn't stop a small groan from escaping his lips.

Harry froze as someone nearby gave a melodious chuckle and opened his eyes a slit, only to find his vision obscured by a mass of purple gauze floating in front of him. He looked up and saw a small girl, her head enveloped in black curls and wearing the overlarge gauzy sundress that had filled his vision. She chewed on her lip as she looked at him, as if debating something, before nodding and kneeling beside him.

"You have ten minutes, okay?" It was not phrased as a question and Harry shivered at her voice, so young, but with an adults experience and inflections. The girl stood up and _faded away_, until it was like she had never existed, leaving blank space behind her. Suddenly a strong, warm hand was at his shoulder, helping him to sit up. Something was handed to him and Harry grabbed it, feeling the frame and lenses of his glasses. He put them on and looked up, inhaling sharply at the sight of his Godfather crouching next to him.

"Hey, kiddo."

"Sirius!" Harry launched himself into his godfather's arms, almost believing that he would go right through the man, but was met with a solid body. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to... I thought you were trapped, and... I'm so sorry, please forgive me... I killed you... I...I..."

"Hey, it's okay, kiddo. I don't blame you. Didn't you think that that was the way I would've wanted to go?" Harry moved to say something, but was interrupted.

"I mean, I'd have much rather stayed with you and Moony, obviously, but it's not so bad here. Really, Harry, you almost did me a favor. I have Prongs and Lily, I can go wherever I want, everyone knows I was innocent, and I have my entire family to annoy! My only regret is leaving you and Moony. Now, I only have ten minutes, so I'll be quick. _I do not blame you. _Never have, never will. And you need to stop blaming yourself too."

"But it is my fault, I led you there, you came for me!"

"And you came for me! Listen to me, honestly Harry, if you hadn't gone to the Ministry that night, I would have snuck out on the next raid, just for something to do, even more so because I would have felt guilty that you were in danger and I couldn't do anything. I understand that it'll take a bit for you to get over me, I'd be insulted if you didn't, but you can't keep doing what you've been doing. No more moping, can you promise me that?"

Harry nodded numbly, his Godfather had just said exactly what he'd wanted to hear but knew he never would, he had been forgiven.

"No Harry, I need you to say it. 'No more blaming myself for things I can't control', can you do that?"

Harry repeated the words almost inaudibly, but the line rang out between them. Harry felt something breaking inside him, some thin sheet of ice that had been covering the truth. It hadn't been his fault at all. He had tried to do what was best and he had checked for Sirius first. He had warned Snape and tried to keep his friends safe, and it wasn't his fault that people had gotten hurt. He couldn't have known about the Death Eaters, or Bellatrix, or Voldemort. He couldn't have known that Sirius was going to come running to the rescue and fall through the veil. it wasn't his fault.

Harry smiled up at Sirius, his first real smile since the Battle at the Ministry a month ago, and went forward for another hug.

"Your mum and dad are nearby, they can see us, but we can't see them, if you have anything to say, you should do it."

Sirius stepped back, giving Harry some space to wipe his eyes.

"Er, hi." Harry could almost feel the silent chuckles in the air around him and the tearful smile his mother was giving him. "I miss you a lot, and... I hope I've made you proud of me. Thanks for, you know, what you guys did for me. I love you guys. I'm sorry you had to die."

"Harry, we have to go now, our time is up." Sirius' voice became urgent, as if he were trying to finish his sentences, and as Harry turned to him he saw why. Sirius was vaguely transparent, fading like the girl had done earlier, only much quicker. "We love you and hope it will be a long, long time before we see you again. Live your life, Harry, and whatever the woman in purple says, accept it."

"Why? Why is she so important? I've been seeing her all the time, she was just with me when I got hit by that car. Wait, where are you going? Am I dead? Sirius! Sirius!" Sirius opened his mouth as if to reply, but vanished completely before anything could be said. Harry was left staring at the spot where his Godfather had been, feeling an acute sense of loss, as if Sirius had died all over again.

A small cough made him whirl around, only to be faced with the little girl again. She looked up at him and frowned, before closing her eyes, and... _growing. _That was the only word to describe it. She became taller and her face and body matured, filling out the loose sundress around her. She opened her eyes again and smiled upon seeing that she was now the exact height as Harry: petite, even for a woman.

She shook her black curls and looked at him, long enough and hard enough to make Harry extremely uncomfortable, although he did vaguely note that her eyes were an interesting shade of silver, eerily reminiscent of Ollivander's eyes. She gave off the same sense as the wandmaker too, like she wasn't entirely of this world, and was in fact, something so other, that there was no hope of understanding her mysteries. She nodded sharply and motioned for Harry to come closer. Unwillingly he did and she began to speak in his ear, her voice soft, but powerful.

"I am Magic. You are my Chosen." Even Harry's scrambled and overstressed brain could hear the capital letters in those two words. "Will you become Magic's Childe?" Sirius' words ran through Harry's mind, but he refrained from agreeing to something he knew nothing about.

"What does that mean?"

She laughed, as if she was glad that he was questioning, and rested her chin on his shoulder. "The powers manifest in strange ways, but you will have them. The powers even you do not know." _The powers the Dark Lord knows not... _was this what the Prophecy was talking about? He jumped slightly as her hand found it's way to his hair and began to card through it, bringing her face closer to his. Her strange silver eyes transfixed him, snaring him the way a snake does a bird. "Will you become Magic's Childe?"

"Yes." Harry didn't know what he was saying, he was just agreeing with whatever she asked. Her hand left his hair and found his fingers, pressing something into his hand before stepping back. He looked down and saw a plain wooden ring, disproportionately heavy for It's size, resting in the palm of his hand.

"Let it be done."

He looked up in time to see her zoom into the distance, as if he was flying backwards, but he _was_ flying backwards, without a broom. Instead of panicking, Harry felt his eyelids droop and an overwhelming urge to sleep overtook him. He fought against it, he knew he should be panicking. He had made an unknown deal with an unknown entity with a promise of power, with only the words "Magic's Childe" to go on, he should be terrified, but he was just... so... tired... Harry vanished into thin air.

Harry opened his eyes again, he was getting really tired if waking up on the floor. Plus, he was being rained on. He pushed himself to his feet, fingers curled around the wooden ring, his only proof that it hadn't been a dream, that he had actually left Little Whinging and met Sirius. Thinking about his Godfather still brought pain, it always would, but it no longer carried the avalanche of guilt that had always buried him before.

Harry tried to take a step but stumbled, his balance was off. For some reason, it felt like he was carrying a huge backpack on his back, one that was heavy and full of bricks. His legs seemed longer too. Harry slipped the wooden ring in his pocket and reached back to check what was clinging to him. His hands caught a bundle of wet feathers. They were long and glossy black, with golden tips, and seemed to be... attached to him. He pulled on them and frowned as he felt a pain where they seemed to be rooted. He skated his hands up and over, to where he could feel bone and muscle, then followed that to the base, where it melded into... him. He flexed his shoulders and ducked reflexively as large wings beat the air above him. Harry's eyes grew wide. She had said that it would manifest in strange ways, but he had never thought she meant this!

It would appear that he, Harry Potter, had wings.


	2. Chapter 2

**So! Did you like it? I hope you did. I certainly enjoyed writing it! Oh, can anyone tell me where we've seen wings in Harry Potter before? Computer cake and a reply to anyone who gets it.**

-o-

"_Love is how you earn your wings."_

_**- Karen Goldman**_

_His hands caught a bundle of wet feathers. They were long and glossy black, with golden tips, and seemed to be... attached to him. Harry pulled on them and frowned as he felt a pain where they seemed to be rooted. He skated his hands up and over, to where he could feel bone and muscle, then followed that to the base, where it melded into... him. He flexed his shoulders and ducked reflexively as large wings beat the air above him. Harry's eyes grew wide. She had said that it would manifest in strange ways, but he had never thought she meant this! It would appear that he, Harry Potter, had wings._

-o-

Harry froze, not believing what his fingers were telling him. Slowly he flapped the wings, _his_ wings, above his head. He could feel the air against his feathers, although that was wrong as normal people didn't have _feathers._ But his life had never been normal, now had it? After being hit by a car and taking no injuries, seeing his dead Godfather, and having some creepy woman give him unknown powers, he was just going with things as they happened.

"Okay. I have wings. I... have wings." Awkwardly, he folded them into a slightly painful shape so that they would lay flat along his back. They still stuck out two meters above his head and touched the ground, but they no longer filled the damp alley he had appeared in. There was no way he could go out into Muggle London like this, or for that matter, the Wizarding World. He had never seen anyone with wings before and knowing how Wizards reacted to anything sentient and non-human, well, he was in for a rough time. Would he be allowed back at Hogwarts? Would he have to go on the run? What if the Ministry snapped his wand?

_Calm down. _Harry flinched at the voice inside his head, as it most certainly wasn't his. _You can easily hide them. Use the ring._

"What?"

Harry remembered the wooden ring in his pocket and pulled it out. The dull wood sat heavily in the palm of his hand and he hesitated before slipping it on. Harry took a step forward in surprise, the wings didn't hurt anymore, it was like they weren't there... He turned around and succeeded in scraping his wings against the walls of the alley, only it wasn't painful. A tingle passed through him and he realized that his now transparent wings were _inside the wall_. He reached out to touch them and his hand met nothing but air. _Yes, they are invisible and intangible to everyone but you. And a few others. You cannot fly when they are in this form._

"Fly?!"

That caught Harry's attention. If he could fly without a broom, well, then maybe this was worth the trouble it was causing. _Yes, _the voice was laughing at his sudden eagerness. _When you are not wearing the ring you can fly. There have been other changes, but I'll leave those for you to figure out. You have all summer after all._

"Other changes..." Harry repeated. "Wait, why did you do this? Why did you choose me? Just because I'm the Boy-Who-Lived?" His voice twisted in bitterness at the last three words.

_ No, of course not. You're the Boy Who Lived because of me. I chose you when you were born, and reinforced my protection the night you defeated the other Heir. Without me you would be long dead, with most of the Wizarding World alongside you._

"What? I..."

_No, learn for yourself. I hear that books are a good place to start. May I suggest the nearest Muggle Library, section 719.2?_

And then she was gone, leaving him alone in a dark alley. A car drove past and Harry shuddered, trying to get memories of the other car out of his head. He walked to the edge of the alley and peered out, trying to see how many people he would have to run from if the ring didn't actually hide the wings. There was no one out on the streets, it had been raining too heavily and for too long for anyone to feel comfortable walking around quite yet. Harry took a deep breath and stepped out of the alley, his ghost wings unfurling by themselves and hanging in the air next to him. Fighting off the urge to flap his wings, he rolled his shoulders and started walking towards Privet Drive. A few jewel colored curtains twitched as he walked past, but as there were no screams or horrified gasps, he assumed that the ring was doing what it was supposed to.

The gravel crunched underfoot as he dragged himself up the walk to number four, and he couldn't stop himself from hesitating before entering the house, treasuring his last moments of freedom. A window box of petunias made threatening sounds as the breeze rustled them slightly, tapping against the glass as Harry opened the door and stepped inside. The soft click the door made alerted his Uncle to his presence in the house.

"Boy! Here!"

Wishing he could desperately escape, Harry walked into the living room. His uncle was lying on the sofa with a tub of ice cream, looking for all the world like a bloated walrus, bristly mustache and all. "Yes?"

"And what sort of time do you call this? Dudley was home an hour ago! I won't tolerate this, no sir, you're not leaving your room until school starts again! You're lucky you're not back in the cupboard, you..." Harry's anger flared as his uncle kept talking. It was all well and good that his last remaining family hated him with a passion, but now they were chaining him to the house like a dog? Chaining him _inside_? No way.

"No." The quiet declaration stopped his Uncle like he'd been slapped, his tirade stopping mid-word. "No, I will not. You will allow me to leave when I wish and how I wish." An idea began to grow in Harry's brain and he smiled, hopefully it would keep the Dursleys out of his feathers, sorry, hair until the end of the summer.

"Because I am not Harry Potter." Vernon's face went white as old porridge and he stuttered meaningless words. "Harry Potter died this night, hit by a car in the street. You have failed as guardians."

With a thump that shook the entire house, the fat man slipped off the sofa and onto the floor. Harry heard his Aunt shriek in the other room and run to her husband, her cleaning gloves swinging from her boney wrists as she reached down to help her husband. She looked up at Harry, her face pinching in rage at his appeared insubordinance. Harry turned to the woman and gave a creepy smile, before continuing his charade.

"Harry Potter is dead. His spirit will continue here before it moves on. Do not speak to him. Do not react to him. Do not realize he is there."

Harry could see that they were getting skeptical of what he was doing and decided that it was time to use his biggest weapon. Slowly, praying that this would work, he moved his wings into position, slightly above his head. They filled the entire room, arching above him and behind the furniture. With a bit of satisfaction he saw that when he made them tangible he would be knocking over one of Aunt Petunia's prized vases, a horrible old thing with fleur de lis all over it. He slipped the ring off his finger and watched with a detached fascination as his wings seemed to blush from his back, color filling from his shoulders to the tips of his feathers, until the entire set was stretched out in the room. The vase crashed to the ground, and it struck Harry that they were huge, definitely enough to lift him into the air. His relatives shrieked in fear at the apparent angel in front of them and scrambled on the floor.

"Leave him alone, or else he will have his revenge."

Harry slipped the ring back on and watched as his wings faded into the background, leaving empty space. He carefully schooled his expression, it wouldn't due to show amusement at the way his relatives were squirming. For a minute he wondered if he was going too far, but dismissed the thought quickly. It wasn't as if he would ever really hurt them. Harry barely made it to his room before he started laughing. The looks on their faces! If this worked and they left him alone, that would definitely be one of his favorite memories.

Harry collapsed on his bed, trying to hold in the explosive laughter that would surely make the Dursleys realize that it was all a trick, when he caught sight of himself in the mirror on the wall. Harry sat up and looked closer. It hadn't been a trick of the light, he was different.

Harry's eyes were the first thing he noticed, his glasses were gone, but he could see just as well as ever, as if he just didn't need them anymore. His pupils were larger and the color took up more of the white than it had before the wings had come. His eyes looked a lot more like the sparrows' he saw in the park. The woman's words flitted through his head "_There have been other changes, but I'll leave those for you to figure out._" Was this what she had meant?

He quickly looked down at his body then turned to the markings on the wall. He had started these when he first moved in and recorded his height in the wall when he left for school and came back. The last marking, the one made three weeks ago, barely came up to his nose. She must have changed his height to help with the wings.

Harry ran towards the bathroom and stepped on the scale. It was a special heavy-duty one that Aunt Petunia had bought to help monitor Dudley's diet, apparently under the impression that he wanted to lose mass, but it would suffice for Harry's needs. He had always been small and skinny, weighing in at barely eighty pounds when he started at Hogwarts, but he was shocked as he saw the number sixty flashing on the scale. He looked up at the mirror, his mouth open against his pale face, and noticed that he didn't look emaciated, rather he looked more filled out than before. Where had the weight loss come from? It couldn't be fat, he still had at least some of that on his body. He supposed it could be water, but he wasn't thirsty. Dimly he recalled hearing somewhere that birds had hollow bones, was that where it came from? Could she do that? Take away the insides of his bones without him feeling a thing?

The knowledge made him shiver. If she could do that, who was to say that she hadn't changed his very essence? His personality? _Other changes, _what did that mean? Harry decided that he needed to stop thinking about it, he was scaring himself with this line of thought. The black haired boy nearly ran back to his room and closed the door behind him. He slowly sat down on his bed and removed his shoes, not bothering to get undressed. Harry swung his feet into the bed and lay on his side, unfocused green eyes staring at the moonlight on the wall. His owl clicked her beak inside her cage, chuffing good night at him, and he smiled.

"It's been a very weird night, Hedwig."

She made a sound that might have been the owl equivalent of a laugh and shuffled on her perch. Her feathers glowing in the moonlight was the last thing Harry saw before closing his eyes.

-o-

The same green orbs fluttered open, hours later, to see the other wall of the smallest bedroom. For a minute Harry lay in bed, his mind blank with delightful sleep, before the events of the day before hit him.

"MORGANA'S HIPS! I have wings!"

Harry jumped out of his bed, his heart pumping as if he'd just run a marathon, the events of yesterday racing through his mind. The cat, the car, Sirius, that weird voice inside his head, the Dursleys, how he'd changed, Sirius! As if his life couldn't get any weirder. He rested his head on his arm, leaning against the wall and gave a muffled laugh.

What would Ron and Hermione think? No, wait, stupid question, he knew what they would think about this. Ron's voice seemed to float out of thin air: "Bloody hell, Mate. What did you do to yourself this time?" Hermione's soon followed, "Harry, this isn't normal. I'll see if I can find a way to remove whatever spell this is."

Ron would sulk and Hermione would research, and the worst part was, that he didn't know if they would stand by him. Sure, they were his best friends, but Ron had abandoned him last year over a stupid competition, and Harry didn't know whether or not he wanted his wings gone. He hadn't tried flying yet, but they felt natural, a part of him. It would be like Hermione was offering to research how to remove his legs. If he had suddenly sprouted another pair of legs.

Harry pushed that train of thought to the back of his mind, deciding that he would deal with that hurdle when he came to it. Standing up, he greeted Hedwig and ruffled her feathers the way she liked. If she wasn't allowed out to fly it was the least he could do. He walked downstairs and started to make himself breakfast. Flying. Thoughts of soaring through the air with nothing but himself to support him tantalized Harry all through his bowl of cold cereal. Deciding that he couldn't wait to try it, he swung himself out of his chair, dumping the bowl of cereal in the sink. None of the Dursleys were up yet. Not inconceivable, given that it was a weekend, but his Aunt was usually up by now and cleaning something. Harry shrugged the feeling of wrongness off, noticing that the family's car wasn't in the drive as he left the house.

Harry walked along the streets for a good hour before he reached his destination, a broken down shack. The windows were punched out, graffiti scrawled on the walls, and half of it had collapsed into itself, the green paint faded and burnt by the sun. It was also halfway into the park of thick trees that would hide him from the view of anyone, even if they happened to be looking here. Carefully, Harry stepped inside the building, avoiding the broken glass and refuse that littered the ground. Making his way to the stairs he stopped and looked up a bit nervously as the building shrieked and moaned in the wind. If it fell over, he would be in big trouble.

The stairs were steep and grey, looking like they had been crammed in at the last minute, after the rest of the building had already been built, with no railing. Harry carefully started his way up, to get to the roof, hoping that he wouldn't slip on the rain that had come through the holes in the walls last night. A tinkling noise caught his attention and he saw a beer can rolling across the floor in the wind. The light got brighter as he went up, one floor, then another, and finally he reached the roof.

It wasn't much of a roof, there were more holes than flooring, and Harry was extremely careful of where he stepped. Hoping to avoid a broken ankle, Harry didn't explore the roof, but rather walked over to the edge. Looking over it, he smiled. There was next to no undergrowth and the spot he had chosen opened up onto an expanse of grass that might once have been a lawn but was now choked with weeds. Harry gripped the ring on his finger tightly, was he really going to do this? The giant black and gold wings slowly blushed out from behind him, catching the air as they formed. Harry barely had time to realize something was wrong before he was in the air.

The wind tossed and turned his wings, mussing up the feathers and contorting them painfully. Harry flapped them desperately, hoping to right himself in the air, but the wind cruelly flipped him back again. He was getting higher and higher with absolutely no control, his breathing speeding up as he realized that he had no idea how to fly. His original plan had been to step off the roof and glide gently to the ground, not this! Harry tried to pull in the wings, to fold them, but the wind was holding them outstretched. Bizarrely, Harry supposed that if any Muggles were looking up right now, they would think him a fallen -or drunken- angel.

Suddenly, magically, the wind in his ears slowed and, with a popping noise, stopped. Harry was disoriented, wondering where the wind had got to, when he realized that his wings were flapping, on instinct. A breathless laugh tore itself from his lungs.

"Oh my god, I'm alive. I'm alive! AND FLYING! WHOOOHOOOO! I'M FLYING!"

Then Harry made a grave error, he looked down. And fell. Meaningless exclamations of terror flew from his mouth as he desperately tried to figure out how to pump his wings again. The air slipped by his grasping fingers, making his hair stand straight up as he hurtled towards the earth.

One hundred meters. Harry was gasping, hyperventilating as his lungs worked fiercely in terror. Ninety. Seventy. The shack looked so small from this high, like he could crush it with his foot. Sixty. Fifty. A chilling thought struck him, his bones were hollow, were they not? So falling from this high... would break everything in his body.

Forty. Thirty-five. Harry wrenched himself into a face down position and started to roll his shoulders frantically, not knowing how to use his new muscles. Thirty. He started flapping his arms, trying desperately to do anything, anything at all with the useless wings that were pulling him down to the ground faster. Twenty-five. Heart pounding, Harry braced himself for impact. Any second now, any second Harry would be dead again.

And...

Nothing happened? He opened one eyes and then quickly the other as he realized that his arm flapping must have triggered something in his panic-hazy mind, some instinct or other that would not let him fall to his death. The wind was slipping by his fingers, but in a good way this time, it felt like cold water flowing over his body, caressing him. His feathers started to emit a low humming noise as the wind flew through them, adding to the surreal feeling of the situation. Harry was flying, actually properly flying, with wings on his back and everything, heading towards the clouds.

His eyes seemed to burn in the wind for a moment, before something slid into place over them, protecting them from the breeze. He was so high already that the shack below him looked like one of those thumb-sized toy houses Dudley had, before he stepped on them. Harry realized that he must be riding a... what was it called?.. a thermal. A warm pillar of air, that birds used to climb up high, before gliding down to earth. Harry turned his face to the sun and flew higher, high on adrenaline and laughing hysterically at his brush with death. This was far better than Quidditch.

-o-

Josie Reynolds watched as the Boy-Who-Lived left the house and frowned. He wasn't supposed to do that. The boy was supposed to stay inside, to be safe. Fingering the golden pin that marked her as a member of the Order of the Phoenix -a bad habit she was trying to break-, Josie watched him walk down the street. She wasn't stupid, she knew what had happened to the boy a month ago. Rumors had been circulating that not only had his godfather died, but the boy had also had direct contact with Voldemort. Now he was leaving, looking like he didn't want to be noticed by anyone. Josie disillusioned herself and followed her errant charge, she wanted to give him a little space, not quite agreeing with Dumbledore's orders of constant surveillance, but never let him out of her sight for long.

They reached a broken down shack and the boy stepped inside. He looked around, as if checking that nothing was going to fall on him and Josie debated wether or not she should reveal herself and make him step away from the obviously derelict building. He went up the stairs and she cursed softly, moving forward quickly. Her foot hit a can lying on the ground, sending it spinning across the floor and she ducked back into the shadows. Disillusioned or not, she would still cast a shadow. He moved on and she breathed a sigh of relief, Dumbledore had said that no one was to contact the boy until it was absolutely necessary.

He went up the stairs and she followed, treading softly enough that he never turned around. They reached the roof and she watched nervously as he walked to the edge and looked over. Was he going to do what she thought he was doing? They were three floors up, a jump from here would mean death. Just as she canceled the disillusionment, she saw something that made her choke. The boy had wings. Huge, feathered, gold and black wings! She barely had time to recognize what she was seeing before they were gone. He was in the air, flying.

She watched in amazement and then in horror as it became apparent that he had no control over his direction. The wind was pushing him around and she could see the wings struggling to close. He was being pushed higher and higher, until he was barely the size of a normal bird. She raised her wand and cast the first spell that came to her mind, and watched, relieved, as the small shape seemed to find it's place in the air. Josie was just about to leave, she needed to report this to Dumbledore, now, when she saw the boy fall. He was already near the ground, she could see his terrified face as he fell to the earth.

Josie pulled her wand out, intending to cast _Arresto Momentum_, but the tip snagged in the fabric of her pocket, frantically, she tugged at it. If Harry Potter died on her watch, there was no telling what would happen. Braced to hear a wet thump any second now, she ripped her wand free, tearing the fabric of her robe in the process, only to see the boy, _Harry_, gliding up and away with an insane smile on his lips.

She turned on the spot and Apparated to the gates of Hogwarts. She waited impatiently as the old metal gates recognized her Magical Signature and opened. Josie ran up the huge lawn and pounded on the huge wooden doors of the castle, yelling for the Headmaster. A glowering Severus Snape led her inside, taking his own sweet time to get her to the Headmaster's office, and enjoying the look of frustration on her face. She burst in as soon as the Gargoyle let her pass, and changed Harry's life -again- with just a few words.

"Headmaster, the boy's got bloody wings!"


End file.
